Equanimity
by Angst Splatter
Summary: Pale, yellow carapace moved up and down in the movement of breathing, though it was weak and shallow. The restraints almost seemed unnecessary. Nothing compared to Bishop's rage.


TMNT is my first fanfic love and I have written for this community before, though elsewhere, under a different name. This could probably be multi-chaptered, but it's a oneshot mostly because the only time I've been able to write and finish longer things are during NaNo, which I try not to write fanfic for. Anyway. I hope it's dark and twisted. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: If they were mine, why would I be writing fanfic?

~TMNT~TMNT~TMNT~TMNT~TMNT~

Stockman stared in awe _(shock)_. Bishop, the crazy government agent, had done it. He had insisted he could, and Stockman had never seen the man more determined. All sanity seemed to have fled the man after his last encounter trying to capture even just one of the turtles. The turtles had seemed prepared, almost like they were expecting the capture attempt. Though Bishop had vehemently denied that they could have known, their escape and humiliation of the man was too smooth, too well played out, for them to have been caught off guard. That, or they were getting really good, skilled enough to take down Bishop without any problem. Bishop, who could move like a silver bullet and was as smooth as one, too. Stockman vehemently denied that. The thought was too terrifying.

The creature in front of him was not. Pale, yellow carapace moved up and down in the movement of breathing, though it was weak and shallow. The restraints almost seemed unnecessary. The black leather straps were pulled down so tight that blood had welled around each place on the limbs where they touched, but the creature didn't give any sign that it felt pain.

Stockman wasn't sure it could feel the pain. Its breathing was too slow, weak, and erratic. Its vitals were nowhere near healthy. Although alive, it hadn't woken up or stirred once. But it was alive and it was amazing. Stockman has been staring at the creature for nearly seven hours, now. He was surprised it had lasted this long.

Stockman fully planned on demanding to be able to dissect _(tear apart)_ the creature later. It looked so much like the turtles who had gotten him in so much trouble and cost him his body. He wanted a chance to avenge himself, mainly. Gain back some of the dignity and pride that had been robbed of him. See what their insides looked like. Stockman knew Bishop would deny him, but he had to check. Just in case.

The creature's breath hiccupped and, for a short moment, Stockman thought it was finally going to die. It was so weak. So unlike the creatures whose DNA made it possible to live. Well, live was a kind word, truthfully.

Stockman sat back, still in awe. He really didn't know what to believe. For once, the scientist was speechless. Words suddenly flowed back, building up behind his self-restraint, when Bishop strode in the room, a hammer held as stiffly in his hand as he was walking. Stockman leaned forward, suddenly very interested and aware of what was happening, awe fleeing from him. Since the thing had been given life, startling the heart monitor hooked up to it into life, Bishop hadn't set eyes on it again. Unlike Stockman, who could not tear his eyes away from it, all unfinished projects temporarily forgotten.

Bishop stared hatefully _(spitefully) _down at the creature, seemingly oblivious of the glass that Stockman was watching him through. His knuckles grew increasingly white. With a sudden roar that briefly made Stockman flashback to his days with The Shredder, Bishop raised the hammer up high and then slammed it into the creature's carapace.

Stockman flinched and a loud crack reminiscent of a gunshot let Stockman know that Bishop had cracked the thin layer of protection the carapace had provided. Eyes wide, but unable to tear his eyes away, Stockman leaned forward further, nose almost touching the glass. Bishop was sneering. The fury in his face removed all traces of humanism in him. Stockman briefly flashed back to Hun. Just as the big man's fist was about to come down on him, another crack brought him back to reality.

This time it was the creature's knee who took the brunt of Bishop's wrath. If its heart rate hadn't been erratic and weak before, it was now. With a few more uncharacteristic screams of rage, Bishop had shattered _(decimated)_ the creature's other knee, ankle, wrist, shoulder, foot, and, finally, head. After three slams in the head with the bloodied hammer, the creature flat lined, heart monitor letting out a continuous annoying screech to signify its death.

Bishop stood hunched over the broken body, panting and shaking and sweating. Stockman leaned back, wondering if he should sneak away before Bishop gave attention to his presence. He couldn't bring himself to do it, though. He had never been the type of man to know what was best for him in situations like these, as The Shredder had kindly pointed out.

Finally, Bishop straightened up again. He gently laid the hammer on the dissection table, next to the creature's head and pushed his glasses back up to their proper place. Stockman leaned back, wary of what he had just witnessed. Although his eyes were still drawn to the creature, bloodied and deformed as it was, he focused on his normally composed employer, taking in his haggard _(defeated)_ appearance.

Stockman knew there was no way that Bishop didn't know that the scientist had just witnessed the agent's breakdown, but Bishop gave no sign that he did. He stared at the door, finally walking over to it and pressing the intercom button on it. "Stockman. Lab five." Stockman's, rather primitive, he thought, walkie-talkie buzzed and Bishop's voice rang out over it, as calm and steady as it always was.

Stockman gaped at the man, but scrambled to get to the other side of the hallway, letting Bishop know he was coming. Two minutes later, Stockman cockily entered the lab, deciding it was best to not mention that he had watched the agent's breakdown. He took a good, long look at the creature, no longer so amazing now that it wasn't alive.

"I suppose this means you've got it figured out, now?" Stockman dryly commented, referring to the process of creating his own mutants.

"Next time it will be stronger. Eventually, the perfect army. This one was weak," Bishop spat, momentarily losing his cool _(grip on the present)_ again.

"So what would you like done with this one?"

"Dispose of it. Put it in with the others. It may be needed for spare parts, later." The others. Many failed experiments. This had been the first one to live for longer than half an hour. Bishop had a special room for them. He wasn't too interested in dissecting them, since they weren't originals and no longer helped him in his experimental processes, but he was adamant on keeping them. Never knew when they would come in handy, he had told Stockman. As soon as they got rid of them properly, they would need them for something. Or so Murphy's Law dictated.

Stockman nodded as Bishop left, trusting Stockman to the simple task. In return, Stockman grabbed two lackey's walking by and ordered them to grab the body and follow him. He was, after all, beneath such a menial task, no matter what Bishop thought. Stockman didn't even bother to look as the body thumped into the room _(pit)_, no doubt rolling down some of the other bodies piled up in there. The scientist's mind quickly turned to other, more important things, as Stockman promptly forgot about the mutant creation. There would be more impressive ones later, he was sure of it. There always was.

But back in the dark disposal room, yellow eyes blinked groggily in the darkness, reflecting off the light coming in from under the door. They stared at the opening for a few, short moments, before slipping closed again. _(Dead.)_

~TMNT~TMNT~TMNT~TMNT~TMNT~

Turned out very different than what I set out to write when I sat down. Not even the same characters I had in mind. I don't think it turned out too awful, though. Concrit would make my day, if you have the time and motivation to write me some.


End file.
